And the Children Shut Their Eyes
by sinemoras09
Summary: This is not the end of their story. Shisui falls in love. Itachi x Shisui. AU, non-massacre. No spoilers.


_Author's note: gift-fic for **coincident. **It's based on her gut-wrenching fic, Limbs All Turned to Glass (f-locked at her livejournal), where Itachi grows up lonely and isolated_. _I've never written Itachi/Shisui before, but I love the pairing, so I'm giving it a go :)_

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It is a commonly accepted truth: that Uchiha Itachi is not someone worth getting to know.

Shisui mostly avoids him, just as the other Uchiha do.

xXx

.

He is fifteen and cocky, flickering through twilight at impossible speeds when a small dark figure cuts across his path.

"What the _fuck_," Shisui says, because at those speeds, it's sometimes impossible to stop.

They don't collide; the Sharingan prevents either one from doing so. Shisui rears upward, eyes an angry red glare. "Hey! The hell do you think you're doing?"

"My apologies," the figure says, and in the dark Shisui can see the barest flicker of red.

It takes him a moment to remember the name. Itachi is one of many cousins, faceless, nameless geniuses that seem to dot the entire clan. "Shit," Shisui says. "You nearly gave me a heart attack. What are you doing here? Isn't it late?"

"I was training," Itachi says. "My apologies, Shisui-san. I did not mean to startle you. I promise it will not happen again."

It's jarring, hearing such formal speech from a twelve year-old. Shisui blinks, then frowns. "Yeah," Shisui says. "It better not."

Itachi bows again (really, it's like he's talking to an old man or something, what the hell?), and Shisui nods uneasily, silently counting the kunai littered on the ground.

"Don't kill yourself, okay?" Shisui says. Itachi tilts his head. "I mean, don't train too hard," Shisui says.

"I won't." Itachi is already bent forward, picking up the kunai and stowing them into his pack. "Goodnight, Shisui-san."

"Uh, goodnight," Shisui says, and flickers away.

xXx

.

"He's _weird_," his other cousins say. "He sits by himself. He probably thinks he's better than everyone else."

Shisui glances back at his cousin, who seems to be intensely studying the shape and line of his chopsticks; Shisui stands and pushes past them, keeping the bowed figure in his line of sight. It's more curiosity than anything else: he's heard about Itachi's achievements, and he wants to see for himself.

His shadow falls on Itachi's back; Itachi looks up. He seems confused.

"Hi," Shisui says.

"Hello," Itachi says.

Shisui itches, uncomfortably. Quietly, Itachi stands, folding up his scrolls under his arms.

It occurs to Shisui that Itachi is the sort of boy who probably doesn't understand the concept of small talk; he barrels forward, anyway.

"How's your training going?" Shisui says. Itachi stops and tilts his head.

"It is fine," Itachi says. "Shisui-san, did you want this seat?"

"What? No, I don't want your seat. Just-dammit, sit down, okay?"

Itachi sits slowly, his eyes never leaving his. "What is it that you want?" Itachi says.

"Nothing," Shisui says. He pulls the chair out across from him, sitting down with a thump. "I just wanted to say hi to my cousin, is all."

"...Oh." Itachi blinks. "Hello."

"You already said that."

"Sorry," Itachi says. Shisui grins and rubs his neck.

"Man," Shisui says. "You really are weird."

They sit for a moment, feeling the sun on their skin and watching the others train, before Shisui bends down, rummaging through his knapsack; he sets it on the table, pulling out a bento box and pushing it toward him.

Making friends comes easily to him. So when the younger boy takes the rice ball in his hand, hesitating slightly before reaching forward, Shisui sees it as no big deal.

xXx

.

He comes to understand, through clumsy starts and stops, that he is Itachi's only friend.

It's hard being a genius. Shisui cloaks it in a veneer of modesty and social grace; he clowns around, he smiles, he uses his flash-step as parlor tricks; it undercuts the overwhelming aura of _prodigy_ that seems to smother Itachi at the same time. "You need to stop being so awkward," Shisui says, and he grabs Itachi by the arm, pulling him forward. "Say hi to people. Smile. Then they won't think you're so aloof."

But it's difficult; Itachi has the social IQ of a bath sponge, and Shisui can't always be there to protect him.

xXx

.

He lets himself get beat up again. It pisses Shisui off - Itachi could wipe their asses on the floor if he wanted to - but Itachi's weird sense of honor keeps him from defending himself. "Dammit, Itachi! What if you get yourself killed?"

"They would not go that far." Itachi winces as Shisui dabs the cut on his forehead. Shisui glares. "They wish to test my limits. I will not give them the satisfaction."

"Well you look like shit, 'Tachi-san," Shisui says. "What do you think your dad will say?"

"He will not comment on it," Itachi says.

Shisui frowns. Itachi's face is covered in a multitude of cuts and bruises, and his skin is smudged with dirt. Shisui is not good with healing chakra, but he does the best he can, holding a basin and steeping a washcloth into the lukewarm water. Methodically, he reaches forward and wipes the blood from the corner of Itachi's lip; he concentrates hard, careful not to hurt him. It's not until he's wringing the washcloth into the rusty water that he sees Itachi's eyes. "Itachi," Shisui says, and it's meant to be comforting, something familiar. He reaches up and touches the bird-like cage of his jaw, gently tracing its outline with the tips of his fingers.

The kiss that comes is gentle, slow and unhurried, his hand coming to rest at the side of Itachi's cheek. It is as natural as breathing, this slow progression forward, and dimly, Shisui understands how _big_ this is, how important. He tastes the blood from the cut in Itachi's lip, and Shisui sweeps his hands forward, gripping him hard around the shoulders and fisting his length: he makes silent promises with his body, his mouth tracing arabesques by his throat.

xXx

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One day, Shisui wakes up and finds he is an officer. It is not entirely unexpected.

The police force is different from the jounin teams he had previously worked on. They are the old guard, brash and loud and slapping their hands across each other's backs.

"Oi! Brag all you want, but _back that shit up_, you get me, asshole?" They laugh loudly, voices booming across the bar.

Shisui fits right in.

In the mess hall, Shisui sits with the other officers, laughing and trading stories, _that bitch didn't know what hit her, hey asshole, I'm talking, here_ - when Shisui glances up.

The heads of the other officers get in the way at first; Shisui moves, and in the spaces between his friends he can see Itachi standing motionless at the table behind them, people moving past him like water around a stone.

Shisui's grin fades. Itachi doesn't falter, doesn't make any sign or movement. He's nothing but a dark comma in the middle of the room, saying nothing and getting swallowed up by the crowd.

xXx

.

It ends like this: sad eyes and a tugging of the mouth. Neither one of them says anything. There is nothing to say.

Months pass, and in the summer of Shisui's second year, Itachi becomes a captain. Suddenly, that strange awkwardness becomes something more sinister. The other Uchiha watch him with thinly veiled disgust - _fucking Konoha dog, what does he think he's doing?_ - and the others at the police force tolerate him even less.

"Your girlfriend is here," his friend says, _sotto voce_. Itachi pales and the others laugh, high-fiving each other in front of him. Until now, Itachi has kept his distance; Shisui does not look at him, but he can feel Itachi steel himself, squaring his shoulders before striding forward.

"Shisui-san," Itachi says.

"What?" Shisui says.

Itachi seems uncertain; he hesitates a moment. "I wanted to say hello."

The other officers snicker. "Oh shit, Shisui, _seriously_?"

Shisui lowers his eyes. "I'll talk to you later," Shisui says.

Shisui turns his back toward him, concentrating on his meal. Behind him, he can feel Itachi standing there, uncertain and unsteady, as if the floor he's been standing on had suddenly collapsed. A few more minutes pass, and it's only after Shisui forces his eyes forward that Itachi finally turns away.

xXx

.

These are the things that Shisui will remember about that night. How Itachi's hands clawed blindly up his shirtfront, greedy and desperate against his skin. Hot wet mouth, the sound of him inhaling, the wet smack of the lips when he gasps for breath again. A love-starved, hungry kiss.

Now Shisui sits in the dark of his room, staring at that patch of moonlight lying on the floor, thoroughly disgusted with himself. It has been almost a year, but the pain of it is no less acute; he can't imagine what Itachi must being going through.

_Their faces are close, heads sharing the same pillow._

_"Shisui." Itachi's eyes flick upward. A question in his eyes. "Your Sharingan?"_

_"I want to remember this," Shisui says. Gently, he presses the pads of his fingers against the scars on Itachi's face. Chakra flows, envelopes him like a soft halo, and Shisui slides his hand up toward Itachi's temple, massaging his fingers deep into his hair. His eyes are like bruises when Shisui kisses him again, pressing his body flush against his; it's only then that he sees Itachi begin to smile._

xXx

.

Fuck this shit, Shisui thinks. This is not the end to their story.

He slips easily into the courtyard, not one lacking in ANBU stealth. Itachi is training. Some things never change.

"Shisui." His voice is low and sonorous, but Shisui can hear the hurt there, too. "What are you doing here?"

"Rounding," Shisui says. Itachi lowers his eyes.

"I see," Itachi says. His face twists. Shisui steps forward, touching his arm.

"Hey," Shisui says. His fingers dig into Itachi's skin. "_Hey_."

"Forgive me," Itachi says. He doesn't look at him. Shisui grips him harder.

Itachi folds up on himself. Slowly Shisui brings him close, covering him with the rest of his body.

"I'm an asshole," Shisui says. Itachi closes his eyes, tears spilling over.

xXx

.

He watches Itachi sleep. It is quiet in his room, the pale moonlight dusting the floor. Slowly, Shisui's sharingan turns, and he watches him in silence; each breath, each slight movement, dutifully committing to memory the curve of the body pressed against him.

He finally falls asleep, face pressed against Itachi's neck, as the sun rises and gives way to a watery dawn.


End file.
